She frowned. "How did you know about that?"

 

"A dream."

 

Rachel didn't look surprised. She tugged at her beach shorts. They were covered

in drawings, which wasn't unusual for her, but these symbols I recognized: Greek

letters, pictures from camp beads, sketches of monsters and faces of gods. I

didn't understand how Rachel could have known about some of that.

 

She'd never been to Olympus or Camp Half-Blood.

 

"I've been seeing things too," she muttered. "I mean, not just through the Mist.

This is different. I've been drawing pictures, writing lines — "

 

"In Ancient Greek," I said. "Do you know what they say?"

 

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I was hoping . . . well, if you had

gone with us on vacation, I was hoping you could have helped me figure out

what's happening to me."

 

She looked at me pleadingly. Her face was sunburned from the beach. Her nose was

peeling. I couldn't get over the shock that she was here in person. She'd forced

her family to cut short their vacation, agreed to go to a horrible school, and

flown a helicopter into a monster battle just to see me. In her own way, she was

as brave as Annabeth.